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Day One: Fly me to the Moon

A wise man once said to me, “It all stops when you get on the plane”. He was referring to the moment when all the last-minute stresses - remembering to switch off the central heating, printing out the final draft of the itinerary, setting the ansaphone, the final transfer of files from desktop to laptop, the packing and preparation - all stops. For eight or nine hours you can do nothing. The worrying drifts away and instead you are forced to sit still, have a drink, watch a movie and read your book. No internet + no email + no work = bliss

He was right. But not this time.

When we got on the plane it all starts. About to take-off, a problem shows itself on the instrument panel and, to cut a long story short, we take off over four hours late. The flight is to Denver, and it all looked so good on paper: an early afternoon departure (so no hacking through the London rush-hour), a leisurely direct flight, pick up the van, and drive to our hotel arriving around 6pm, in time for a light meal and an early night. It was not to be. We arrive at the airport at 8 pm and pick up the van with the ground just beginning to shift beneath our feet. Unfamiliar with my Microsoft Streets and Trips (SatNav for the laptop), I direct us to the middle of a field. Eventually we fall into our rooms at around 11. As I go to sleep I dream of a comfortable bed, an inviting sofa and an enormous flat-screen TV.

I wake to find out that my dream was real. We're staying in the Amerisuites but they have been bought out by Hyatt. A lovely bed, nice office space, a small kitchen area, a modish sofa, all done in mute browns and beige and the largest TV I have ever seen. About the size of my living room at home. Actually, big as the hotel room is, you can't get far enough away from it to fully appreciate the picture.

You wake early flying West. It's inevitable, but on the plus side you are unnaturally energised. It doesn't last, of course, but you can keep yourself going with espresso and chocolate. Well, it works for me. It would have been nice for the four of us to have had a beer the previous evening, but for reasons stated above, it was not to be. A shame, but one that will be rectified in the coming days.

The day is spent in the mall and the various shopping outlets that surround our hotel. It's all here: Best Buy for DVDs and CDs, CompUSA for all the geek stuff, the usual clothing stores to raid, Borders for books, even a Barnes and Noble behind the hotel. With the pound v dollar around 1:2 it means that there are bargains to be had, but as we're earning our income in dollars it's a mixed blessing. Still, we can kid ourselves this way that shopping equals good economic sense, an argument that keeps the guilt at bay.

All this is not without incident or even accident. For one thing, the most direct route often involves a clamber up a muddy and snow-covered hillock. For another, the sidewalks are piled high with snow, except when there are no sidewalks at all. Malls are to be driven to, not approached on foot. People say that the Brits are polite, but it's as nothing compared with the Americans. The most obvious manifestation of this is the “Pardon Mes” and Excuse Mes“ one encounters when bumping into people in the stores, but outside cars screech to a halt half a mile away when they see us walking on the road. This in contrast to the UK where pedestrians are to drivers what the Roadrunner is to the Coyote.

Tonight we rehearse with the St Mary Mens' Schola, a redoubtable outfit who manage the plainchant brilliantly. Matt is suffering from some horrible form of gastric flu so is unable to attend, but the group dynamic and understanding between the members is really impressive. 'Perspice Christicola', the Latin-texted version of Sumer is icumen in, really takes off.

Back to the hotel by way of the first communal drink of the tour, a large pint of Fat Tire Amber Ale with some chunky guacamole and tortilla chips on the side. The waiter is a Chelsea supporter which makes Mark and Angus very happy; Robert and I have to suffer another back-slapping Blues' celebration.

Friday morning is the day of the concert and Robert and I the first to breakfast, both still unable to shake the jetlag. Angus will be next and then Mark will stagger down to make the final breakfast order just before it closes. This will be the pattern of things to come.

I go for a run and then on to the mall. Mark also has a run (we hear him grunt every time he moves later on) whilst Robert and Angus fill the time with more shopping and a little work. We leave the hotel around 4pm and run through some of our pieces before our fellow singers arrive. Matt is still incapacitated but the members of his choir do him proud and the concert goes very well. We meet the audience afterwards, bottles of beer in hand (us and them), and are warmed by the response. We also get a chance to chat more with our fellow singers and then we return to the hotel, tired but happy.

The following day is one of those early starts that US geography demands. We leave the hotel at 6am for an 8.30 flight from Denver to Baltimore, followed by a drive into D.C. Mark entertains us on the bus to the terminal by wearing his new hat. We sing that night in the Dumbarton Concert Series which we visited some nine years ago. Mimi is there to greet us and show us where to park our hired van, our home-from-home for a week. It has CD, cassette, and DVD so we're looking forward to trying out all the various gizmos.

The concert space is a lovely church, plenty of wood around which adds a warmth to our voices. It's a great concert series with a friendly and enthusiastic audience and, judging by the response, they all enjoy it. Mimi and Connie are primed by our agent, Robert Besen, to provide us with a six-pack of interesting beers for the end of the concert and once again we are not disappointed (Hop Devil being just one worthy of mention). This is one of my favourite pastimes and Mimi shares my enthusiasm, favouring the hoppy India Pale Ales from local breweries. Sponsors: place your ads here!

Day Five: Haverford: Tell me on a Sunday

Sunday morning and once again we are in the van, now driving north to Haverford College which we visited on the same tour nine years. Haverford is famous for its cricket pitch which, given that England have finally salvaged some lost pride by beating Australia in a one-day series, is apposite. The concert is held in the afternoon, the programme “The Rose, the Lily and the Whortleberry”. We are staying in the Wayne Hotel a few miles away and this is our first clear evening off. We retire to Christopher's for beer and dinner and we're back at the hotel at a reasonable hour.

Day Six: Haverford: How did you get there from here, Mr. Shepherd?

Monday is a rewarding and challenging day spent working with the students. Many have been to the concert the day before and Richard Freedman, Professor of Music, is convinced that we will end up talking for ninety minutes and then there will be a flurry of questions at the end. Instead there is an uninterrupted flow, all the questions incisive and intelligent, and the time flies by. After a brief lunch we rehearse some new music and then meet Tom Lloyd's choir who sing John Taverner's second setting of Dum Transisset for us. Robert, who conducts his own choir in London, always comes into his own on such occasions, coaching them in a performance which, already good, begins to find a new confidence, particularly when they sing it without any conductor at all.

That evening we have dinner with Richard at a Lebanese restaurant and generally put the world to rights. We all express the hope that it won't be nine years before we're back. I even manage to catch up on Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, the relatively new Aaron Sorkin Dramedy. It's not as good as his early scripts for the West Wing but it's nevertheless good to see him working again. After that sleep comes easily.

Day Seven: Haverford to Ithaca: Let it snow

Tuesday is a much-anticipated day, mainly because snow has been forecast in the area. Indeed, it's snowing when we wake. A 240-mile drive up to Ithaca is in store so we get an early start and roll into the small college town, in time for a late lunch. No snow. Well, none to speak of. The one hundred inches that we have heard talk of is all much further north, the result of “lake effect snow”. So we're pleasantly surprised and sceptical about all the hype. Weather? Pah! It's a myth, we think. Until we wake the following morning....

Day Eight: Ithaca: There's no business like snow business

..... to a winter wonderland. It had started the previous night and, from the snatches of conversation that have floated my way, people are resigned and secretly pleased; it's the perfect excuse to be late/unavailable/lazy (delete as applicable). Actually, come the morning, you can see why they felt that way. Movement by car is treacherous, by foot extremely difficult, and the view from one's room is one of chaos, like the opening reel of a sci-fi movie. I stumble to breakfast, romantic images of breakfast in a Diner dashed. None of us strays far from the hotel. And still it snows. The concert tomorrow night will be poorly attended, we fear, and the drive to Gordon College north of Boston on Friday something of an ordeal. As if a 400-mile drive was not enough of an ordeal in the first place.

Still, the enforced limitations means that we all get plenty of 'downtime'. Laundry, emails, reading, work - all are addressed and we keep in touch regularly about the state of the weather. Cornell, along with virtually all the schools in the area, closes down on the afternoon the day before the concert. An omen? We hope not.

Day Nine: Ithaca: Anyone for Tennis?

Come the day of the concert things have returned pretty much to normal. There is still a lot of snow, but the authorities are used to such events and the roads and pathways are clear. And once more people are out and about. It snowed the previous week in England. Well, one inch of snow anyway. That was enough and the country ground to a halt. Here they have had over two feet and things are up and running. I'd headed for the library and witnessed a guy hurling abuse at the closed sign. He looked to me for agreement: “Try England, mate”, was my response.

Angus and Mark play tennis, a long-standing tradition that began in Castelo Branco in Portugal and has also seen them slugging it out at Dartmouth College and Sheboygan, WI. Mark claims to have won given that Angus, winning 6-1,4-1, suggested they stopped. He also maintains that if Angus had taken any more time between points that they'd never have made the concert.

Sage Chapel is pretty near full, particularly impressive given the weather. The programme is the Ambassadors, another of Angus' intelligent designs which sets the music in a cultural context, informing as it entertains. We read various (semi-fictional) letters purportedly written by Ambassadors from different countries between the music. Kiko and her staff have been very gracious and attendant to our needs and the icing on the cake is a six-pack of Ithaca Nut Brown Ale that we drink at the hotel as we pack.

Day Ten: Ithaca to Wenham, MA: You could drive a person crazy...

The 400-mile journey comes down to only 370 once we have worked out a route. We set off at 8 and stop in Oneanta, NY, for breakfast in the Corfu Diner around 10. You can't beat the American breakfast: eggs sunny side up, bacon, hash browns, wholewheat toast, coffee and juice. Oh, and grape jelly for the toast. What is it with grape jelly? Is there a grape jelly lake somewhere in the deep South? Then it's back on the road once more for the longest leg. People divide their time in different ways; I catch up with this report and get some work done on the laptop. Mark occupies himself with some Jumbo puzzles from The Times. Robert and Angus read. We share the driving but we conserve our energy for the concert that evening at Gordon College in Wenham, MA, just north of Boston.

The music department have a beautiful small recital hall panelled in wood. 'The Ambassadors' programme again and afterwards, as we meet and greet, the students in particular are enthusiastic and full of compliments.

Day Eleven: Wenham, MA to New York, New York: Another Saturday Night in New York

Saturday and we are once more back on the road, this time into New York. We chat about the tour and are all struck by how long ago Littleton seems. Mark admits that the previous night when someone had asked him where we had been he'd been unable to remember. Memories will crystallise in due course, but one of the strange effects of Life on the Road is that it's very difficult to get a fix on events as they unfold. Saturday night in the Big Apple sees us catching up on last minute presents for those back home, and meeting old friends.

Day Twelve: New York to London: Bring him home

It's Sunday in New York. Visions of Brunch dance in front of our eyes, but it's not to be. We drive up to The Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of New York, and a famous venue for early music. It's built partly out of original C.12th Spanish stone and an Italian door marks the entrance. The venue itself is a chapel with a lot of stone, but with an audience in place the sound steadies down and works wonderfully. We have two concerts of around an hour in length so we're pretty tired when it's all over. A walk through Tryon Park led by Mark's friend, Joe, and the four of us, Joe, his flatmate Sarah, and our agent Robert Besen retire for a quick bowl of pasta before heading off to JFK. Once there we round things off with a celebratory drink. The last BA flight home and then the struggle through London traffic.

Hey, we love touring the USA, but there's no place like home....